


Underground, Lost and Found

by Evidence



Series: Shelved WIP's [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Labyrinth (1986)
Genre: F/M, Pairings may be added later, petunia owns a very rare book, probably sarah/jareth at some point, sarah is not terribly impressed with her
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-22
Updated: 2014-05-22
Packaged: 2018-01-26 04:10:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1674242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Evidence/pseuds/Evidence
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wizards and witches belong to a hidden world.</p>
<p>They aren't the only ones, though.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Underground, Lost and Found

**Author's Note:**

> I'll just put this here.

 

 

Petunia Dursley’s hands were shaking as she held the thin, red book between them, white-knuckled in their grip. Her gaze flitted between the worn words on the cover and the baby boy lying in a basket on her kitchen table. She had only just gotten the boy to stop wailing, and he was staring at her with curious green eyes. The jagged cut on his forehead was an angry red.

A black spot of resentment grew in her heart, moment by moment, as she saw those eyes. Such a bright green… so _unnatural_ , she told herself, fighting against the writhing snake of jealousy which burned inside of her until it turned to hatred. It was far preferable to hate than to covet. If she wanted what it was that he had, that her _darling_ sister had passed along to him, then that meant the lot of them really _were_ better than her, didn’t it? But magic wasn’t money, or a fancy car or a nice house. It wasn’t something you could work for. No, it was a fickle thing, like a birth defect or… or _green eyes_ , and no one could choose to take it or leave it. Petunia scowled, recalling all too well the bitterness of her childhood. She had sworn that Dudley would never know it. Not her precious son, who didn’t need magic to be special, who would never have to wonder if she loved him as much as someone else, or feel the pain of glimpsing a wonderland just in time to watch the door slam shut in his face. If she had her way, Dudley would _never_ learn of magic. He would never know that there was something he couldn’t have.

She took a deep breath, trying to quiet the jumble of emotions that were running through her near-panicked mind.   How dare they ask this of her! How dare they shove _her_ son onto her doorstep and expect that she would raise him in the same house as her own baby? The words in the letter were clear, as threatening as they would seem innocuous or just plain confusing to the unfamiliar eye. _Take care of the boy, or else_ , they said, in so many subtle little ways. Petunia didn’t doubt their writer’s willingness to follow through. If she hadn’t thought of the book, then she would have had no choice… and part of her, a quiet part that had long ago been buried deep, deep down, shuddered to think how she would treat the boy who was her sister’s son. Because she knew, with every flare of disgust that rose in her at the site of him, that it would not be pleasant. _Their_ kind could hold their threats over her head. But if it was their own sort that took him, she could plead an inability to intervene, couldn’t she?

It was still a risk, but Petunia knew from her brief experiences with Lily that their kind believed normal folk to be all but helpless in the face of magic. Perhaps because they were, no matter how that thought terrified and infuriated her at once.

Still, she had sent Vernon away with Dudley, just in case. They didn’t need to see what was about to happen. They didn’t need to know.

Clearing her throat, Petunia flipped the thin book open. It had been a favorite of _hers_ when they were children, back before the freakishness had begun in earnest. Truthfully she didn’t know why she had hung on to the unnatural thing, except for the fleeting thought of something that stilled her hand whenever she went to toss it out. The vaguest memories of a very long time ago had danced, unacknowledged, in the back of her mind, filling it with the sight of an old patterned quilt and the sound of her voice dutifully reading the words on a musty-smelling page. Those memories had never broken through to the forefront of her thoughts, however.

“I wish the Goblin King would come and take you away, right now,” Petunia intoned shrilly, awash with nervous fright. She had not been _completely_ certain that the words would work. After all, it was not necessarily true that any book which mentioned magic was a literal how-to guide for _their_ world. However, something about it had always put a sense of… oddness in her. Enough so that even if she hadn’t thrown it away, she had at least packed it up into the attic very far from reach. _Their_ kind thought that they were as blind to magic as a mole in the ground would be to a bird in the sky. But Petunia knew she could feel it, in the crawling way that a mouse could feel an owl’s eyes on its back. Vernon, too, though they never spoke of it. They simply pulled away from anything that gave them such a feeling.

For a moment, Petunia thought that she had failed. The baby did not vanish from his basket, there was no unexpected darkening of the sky or crack of lightning. She was about to toss the book into the bin out of sheer frustration when suddenly her ears filled with the flapping of wings, and, quite shockingly, a dark figure appeared, crouched low over the basket on the table. If she’d blinked, she would have missed the arrival altogether.

Petunia pressed her lips together tightly to stop herself from shouting. She _hated_ the sight of magic. It filled her with such a mix of longing and revulsion that she wanted to empty her stomach. The blood drained from her face and any words she might have spoken died in her throat as, with tentative motions, the figure gathered the dark-haired child up in its arms.

But when she had recovered herself, Petunia noticed something a little… off about the scene. She had asked for the Goblin King. Clearly, however, the lines of communication had gotten a bit muddled between request and response, because the unnatural person standing in her kitchen was definitely no _king_. In point of fact, the girl didn’t even look like she was far out of her teens yet, for all that she was wrapped in a dark, feathered cloak and staring at her reproachfully.

“I am obliged to offer you your dreams as payment,” the girl said, a little snidely Petunia thought. She straightened her back and replied with equal venom.

“You don’t look like much of a ‘king’.”

The girl’s already dark expression fell further, and for a moment, Petunia regretted her words. She didn’t care to think of the state her kitchen might be left in after a temperamental girl with unnatural gifts finished throwing her tantrum in it. Something scuttled along the immaculate floor just out of the corner of her eye, and she stiffened further in apprehension.

“ _His Majesty_ is unavailable at the moment,” the girl replied. Then she pulled the baby closer to herself and Petunia lost sight of him beneath the billowing fabric of her cloak. One hand re-emerged, however, and the girl extended it towards her. Petunia flinched back, both at the smooth, round crystal held by her slender fingers, and the dark look on her face.

“As I said, I am obliged to offer you payment in dreams,” declared the not-king.

At first, Petunia was inclined to refuse out of hand. She didn’t want anything to do with their freakishness. That was the whole point. But then her gaze caught the light reflected in the crystal, and she paused. Something beautiful danced therein. Something wonderful, which called to her, whispering of joy and uniqueness, and love everlasting. She extended a hand, and black-gloved fingers dropped the orb into her palm, where it rested sweetly for a moment before vanishing.

When Petunia looked up the kitchen was empty. She frowned, unable to recall what she had been doing a moment ago, or why she had pulled all the blinds shut tight. As though it had been something she didn’t want the neighbors to see. Unsettled, she pulled them back open, and told herself not to think too much on it. Any minute now Vernon and Dudley would be back from their outing, and they would want their lunch.

Humming to herself, she began to set about the task, thinking fondly of how big her baby was getting and how well her husband was doing for himself at work. Her mind never drifted to any thoughts of her sister or her nephew.

For the rest of her life, it never would.

 


End file.
